Strong
by NaiveDeathkin
Summary: "Battle was not hard; she could keep her ground better than most. It was the time between that killed her." The story of a city elf that suddenly had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Rated M for language/possible romance.
1. After the joining

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age and all its characters belongs to Bioware. Had I been in charge, the game would've been known as "Naked Zevran and me". Sadly, it's not.

This is my first attempt at Dragon Age fanfic ever, so be gentle. I'm still in the learning process.

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><p><strong>1: After the joining<strong>

Alistair couldn't help wonder where she'd gone. A new and fresh warden to keep him company, and then she just disappears like that. Poof, gone.

_-Uh. Duncan? The new warden, the city elf – where is she?_

_-Ah, Alistair. I believe she's of the kind that you'll just have to be patient with. Keep in mind that she's a city elf, straight out of the alienage. How did you feel, the day I brought you out of the Chantry? I do seem to remember that it did take you quite a while to adjust to all the people that suddenly surrounded you. I seem to remember a young man that furiously blushed every time a woman glanced his way, if I am not mistaken._

_-I guess you're right. But Maker, she chops off darkspawn heads like they're dolls, but she hides from me? I don't know if I should be a little insulted or... well, more insulted._

As Duncan laughed and sipped to his ale, Alistair decided to let it go for the night. Maybe she was allergic to humans, and just found out now because she'd spent her whole life in the elven alienage. Ah, yes, that had to be it. Content with his excellent deductive skills, he decided to find his bedroll and get some rest. Grey Warden joinings always took its toll on him, as did hunting down the new recruits.

.oO0Oo.

Everywhere she turned, there were men. No matter where she found her way, humans had already settled_. "Race does not matter here, my young Warden. Here, we are all Grey Wardens, every man, and every woman. "Dwarf", "elf" or "human" only tells about your past. Your future is as a Grey Warden."_ Those were the words Duncan had uttered. Kallian had just nodded, letting her gaze flutter among those around her. They were all... men. She might've seen a few women, but they too had been of the human race.

No matter how hard she tried, her heart fluttered when she made eye contact with one of the others. She did her very best to hide her insecurities – if there was an opening for an arrogant comment or an invitation for bravery, she'd take it. Battle was not hard; she could keep her ground better than most. It was the time between that killed her.

Slowly sighing she looked into the fireplace in front of her and hoped that she'd grow tired enough to go to sleep soon, that her pulse would lower enough for rest to find her. Waiting, she skeptically watched those who walked by, while her fingers distantly played with the ring located at her left hand. How was she ever going to grow accustomed to this life?

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><p>I'm writing this to add a bigger story to the playthrough I've got going on, and I guess that knowing a bit about the city elf background does help a little in understanding everything. Hope you enjoy!<p> 


	2. The fearless leader

**2: The fearless leader**

It was as if she danced. Leliana had almost halted her song as she marveled at the Warden's fighting. The little red haired elf showed no emotion as she spun around with her weapons working as extensions of her own body – as the sword knocked away the heavy armor, the dagger drew blood with the precision of a needle. Kallian herself seemed to be unaware of the show she was putting on, and as one body fell, a new one rapidly felt her blade. On the battlefield she was a fiend; she was death and anger incarnated. As the Orlesian dodged an arrow and fired one herself, thus ending the life of the last greyspawn, she couldn't help being both fascinated and frightened by the performance of her leader.

_-Have I ever told you that your fighting is like a dance, my Warden? The way you spin, the way your legs kick out and your arms move – it reminds me of the street dancers in Orlais. Oh, how I used to marvel at their shows. They were like the finest display of art._

Kallian simply looked at her, wiping the blood away from her face.

_-There is no beauty in death, Leliana. Nor is it in killing. I, _we_, do this because we have to, because we need to. Illusions of beauty and safety never served anyone any good._

With those words, she sheathed her weapons and headed to a nearby stream to rinse the blood out of her hair. Behind she left a gaping Orlesian, a whining dog and an ex-templar frowning at the back of her head. Seconds after, he threw his sword and shield to the ground and followed the path that she'd taken.

_-Just what is the matter with you, Kallian? Huh? Why do you always have to be such an uptight bi-_

Alistair halted as he met the eyes of his fellow Warden. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, even though she frantically wiped them away with her hands. They were still covered in blood however, resulting in a rather macabre facial decoration. It was, well, not what he had expected to encounter, to put it short. He could've handled the ghost of Prince Cailan, he could've dealt with tap-dancing darkspawn. But this? Oh, no.

_-Oh, uh, oh, well. This is somewhat awkward. You think you can go back to looking all tough and that, so I can scold you like I'd planned? No? Ah, uh, okay, I think I'm going to go back to the others and… stand there. I'm quite good at that, actually, if I can say so myself. Yes. See you then._

And with that a pair of flushed cheeks ran back to the awaiting team, armor rattling as he made his way through the trees.

As Alistair put some distance between them, she finally felt her tears coming to a halt. _Damned it!_ Was she not supposed to be their strong leader? Was she not the one that was to keep calm during it all, the one who'd unite them in battle and show them how true courage and leadership was meant to be? She picked up her sword, and with a loud yell she let the closest tree feel the taste of steel. With hard swings she cut into the bark, and as she let her weapon fall to the ground she continued to beat at the tree with her bare hands. Loud sobs emerged from her chest, and eventually she sank to the ground. Was she ever going to be the strong aid that people around her seemed to require? She couldn't help Shianni, no matter how hard she'd tried. And now she'd showed Alistair how weak she was as well.

_-Damned it! Andraste's ass, damned be this forsaken blight, damned be it all!_

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she slowly felt control come to her again. She hit her fist into the abused tree once more, and straightened up her back. Slowly she inhaled, one, two, three times, and turned her face towards the stream of water running next to her. As she washed her face clean of the stench of the darkspawn, she focused on letting her breathing calm yet again, and let her mask of control slip back on. And then she was back – Kallian, the dancing killer. Kallian, the mighty Grey Warden. _Kallian, the fearless leader_.


	3. The walls stands strong

**3: The walls stand strong**

As the darkness of the night embraced their camp, Kallian leant back on the tree she was standing at, and let her eyes sweep over the grassy field they temporarily called "home". Wynne seemed utterly focused on some old scrolls, and Leliana was sitting next to her while humming on some unknown melody. Alistair was busy trying to melt some cheese at their campfire, while she could just barely make out the silhouette of Sten standing guard on the other side of the field. Their Antivan Crow was sitting on some furs, sharpening his daggers, while her mabari seemed rather preoccupied with a stick he'd dragged out of the forest. As she turned her head to the right, she could see smoke rising from a campfire away from the rest, indication that also Morrigan was still awake. These were her comrades; it was her responsibility to keep them alive in their battle towards the Archdemon. And at times, that very responsibility sent chills down her spine.

She must've dozed off for a moment, and nearly jumped as she heard Zevran's voice next to her.

_-You do not spend much time socializing, no? Sneaking off, sleeping in the bushes. You Ferelden women are something else, I must say._

_-Zevran. Do you not have poisons to make? Daggers to sharpen, armor to polish, old mages to trouble with cheesy pick-up lines? I am standing out here because I needed time to think about where we will head tomorrow morning, and I don't need you interfering._

_-Oh, you break my heart, dear Warden! What has happened to you in your past, to make you such a queen of ice, if I may ask? A beautiful man broke your heart? Or perhaps there was an evil stepmother who abused you in the most gruesome way, mad with envy of your beautiful appearance, no?_

For a second, Kallian went silent. A part of her wanted to tell him about the life in the alienage; about that day when Duncan came to Denerim, about that day when it all fell to pieces and she so clearly was presented to how little influence she had on the wellbeing of her loved ones. Instead she let her mask take its usual place, and sternly looked Zevran in the eyes.

_-No, you may not ask me of anything. My past is my own, and I do not see why you'll gain anything from knowing anything of it._

With that she left the Crow to himself, letting her feet take her away, anywhere but a place with a chance to have her emotions take control over her. While she felt confident that she easily had brushed the Antivan off, it was not that which was reflected on his face where he stood at the edge of the woods. He'd seen the flutter of her eyes, the quick brush on the ring she always wore. It amazed him at times, how little some seemed to know of the skills required in the Antivan Crows. If he had not been able to read body language, had he not mastered the art of noticing the little things, what kind of Crow would that make him? Puzzled, he looked at her as she hurried away from him. He didn't like it, seeing the pain that could linger in the eyes of his leader – the woman he owed his freedom. If he'd only known what was causing it.


	4. Nightmares

**4: Nighmares**

_-Ha! If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that's your business, but don't pretend this is a proper wedding. Now we're here for a good time, aren't we boys?_

The mocking voice pierced through her mind like the sharpest of daggers. Her lungs seemed to reject the air she tried to inhale, and panic slowly crept into her mind.

_-Let's take those two, the one in the tight dress, and... where's the bitch that bottled me?_

Frantically she tried to find something to hold on to, something to keep her safe. Everything seemed to get tangled in her arms and legs however, and from what seemed like a thousand miles away she could hear her own voice scream into the dark of the night. Why couldn't she breathe, why didn't her body wake up? Like a trapped animal she fought with all she had, but she could not free herself. Until a voice suddenly came through the mist of her mind.

_-Dear child, listen to me. You are safe. You are in camp, and there is nothing to fear. Now wake!_

And as a soft hand gently tugged at her should, she felt the dark tendrils of the nightmare release her into the conscious world. As she forced her eyes open, she met a concerned and slightly wrinkled face looking back at her.

_-My dear Warden. I am aware that every Grey Warden is exposed to nightmares, to some extent. But something tells me that this was no Archdemon that haunted your dreams._

_Who knows_, Kallian bitterly thought. _So far, that man has hurt more of those I love than any darkspawn._ With her elbows pushing her up from her bedroll, she's slowly noticed the mess she'd made. Potions and hides lay strewn around the room, and a bottle of liquor had been knocked to the ground, filling the air with a scent that tugged at her nose. Ah, perfect, there went the whisky she'd bought in Redcliffe. In the middle of it all sat Wynne, frowning, and sending her a look that urged an explanation. And after the nightmare, Kallians' energy was low. With a resigning sigh, she sat up and slowly let her voice break through the darkness of her tent.

_-I.. I did not volunteer to join the ranks of the Wardens. I had no choice. Duncan took me from the alienage and saved me from prisons of Denerim. It's getting close to a year ago now._

Wynne made some comforting replies to encourage her, and gently looked at her to see where this story would lead. Her eyes told nothing of what she might be thinking.

_-I killed the arl's son for hurting my friends and family. Back in the alienage, I mean. _

Silence again embraced the tent they were in. She'd begun now, she'd already exposed some of her past, the weakness she always carried on her shoulders. Might as well ruin the whole image of a good leader, when she was at it.

_-It was my wedding day. Both mine, and Soris'. He's my cousin. Or maybe was. I don't know how it is in the alienage now. I haven't even been to that part of Denerim yet. I.. just. No. As the Sister from the Chantry had begun the ceremony, the earl's son came to the stage where we were. I think he was drunk. He had all his men with him, both drunken fools and knights in armor. And he claimed that he had a party lacking women. That he wanted us to come with him. And I did nothing. My body went stiff. As that man beat my future husband and forced us to join him, I did nothing. They took Shianni as well. My dearest Shianni. She was always so strong and-_

Suddenly her voice broke. So long had she suppressed the memories of that day, the memories of Shianni as she had found her on the floor. Her heart was aching as she spoke, the shame of her failed rescue mission threatening to choke her.

_-We escaped, after a little while. I found a sword, and let them all fall to the floor, every man, every knight. Soris was there with me, he fought too. A-and there was so much blood. I just ran, trying to find Shianni. I didn't even look at the faces of those I cut down. My sword just instinctively sough their necks, their hearts, everything it could reach. And yet, as I found her, it was too late. S-she was lying on the floor. Almost naked. And the earl's son was there, smirking. Oh, that smirk! He even offered me forty sovereigns to walk away. While she was still on the floor, bleeding. I… I just remember the anger in his eyes, as my sword pierced into his gut. I don't recall anything after that. Until I was home again. As the guards came to arrest us, I took the blame, trying to free Soris. Then, then Duncan walked in, and the rest we all know._

As she looked up, she noticed tears streaming down Wynne's cheeks. The usually stoic and calm mage let the teardrops fall, as she looked at Kallian with an expression she could not make out.

_-Oh, my child. If I ever… Oh, how my heart weeps for you. Such a memory to carry, such an outcome of a wedding day. And, if it is not too painful a thing to ask, what became of your betrothed?_

As the question was uttered, Wynne noticed the pain in the Wardens eyes, the fingers that brushed over the ring on her left hand. Silence filled the air with the density of iron.

_-No, do not tell me. It does nothing good to dig too deeply into old wounds. But I am honored to get to know you like this, of that I cannot deny. You are a remarkable woman, Warden. And with what I know now, the strength you carry within you glows even stronger. If there is anything I can assist you in, anything you want to ask or tell, question or statement, I am ready for you. This is not a burden you should be forced to carry alone._

Wynne could sense that she was about to overstay the moment of closeness she'd been granted from the Warden, as she noticed the posture of the elf grow more rigid, her arms locking around her knees. With a slight smile, the aging mage nodded, and slowly walked into the night outside. Mist crept at the borders of the woods, and gave the landscape the look of a painting. _It is strange_, she thought as she walked towards her own place, _how such a beautiful world can be the stage for such an infinite amount of horrible deeds._ And as the bottom of her robe grew moist in the dew of the grass, she ducked into her own tent, failing to notice that she was not the only one who'd been woken by their dreaming elf. Curdled behind some nearby bushes lay a Crow, with fists clenched and a look of fighting emotions painted across his face.


	5. Punishment

_**5: Punishment**_

Staying at an inn was always an ambivalent experience. Yes, they finally could sleep in beds, with half-clean linens and the possibility of a shower. But there were also the men. Everywhere. Drunken, yelling, flirting, _patronizing_ men. As a consequence, she'd usually sleep equally well in the woods with darkspawn lurking, as she did beneath the sheets of a semi-expensive inn. Her companions however did not share the same repulsion of the human kind, mostly because they were of the same race themselves. Thus, she followed their wishes when the economy granted it, and checked in at taverns and such from time to time. And while they slept, she drank. Taking down a high dragon was nothing compared to a night amongst humans. _Oh, I am a brave one indeed_, Kallian bitterly thought as she put the bottle to her mouth, the liquid burning down her throat. After Oghren joined their party, there always seemed to be bottles of spirits everywhere. At nights like these, she didn't complain. _At nights when the drunken dwarf attacked their fireplace, claiming it to be a dragon and then passing out in the fire, things were different however._ Her team was a unique one, she'd give them that.

The whisky must've been a bit more potent than she'd initially thought, and after some time the buzz in the back her head got so overwhelming she had to lean back into a chair. It wasn't until the bottle slipped out of her hand and smashed into the floor, that she realized she'd dozed off. With a string of elven curses she rose to her feet and held onto a painting on the wall for support. _Halla's balls, why couldn't the world just stand still for a little while?_ With staggering steps she opened the door out of her room, deciding that some fresh air was in its place. Sniffing the air around her, she also realized that drinking alone for hours had marked both her and the room with a rather stale odor as well. _Fresh air it is then._

She'd always favored to travel along Lake Calenhad when the roads allowed it, and it was moments such as this that she treasured that decision. The air of the night was cool, and a gently breeze caressed her as she was walking down the street. Even though Denerim was close to the sea, the air was always thick with dust there, choking its inhabitants on the hottest days of summer. She'd much rather fill her lungs with the air here. A faint scent of flowers also seemed to linger in the air, the last fragrances of summer filling the night.

_-Hah! Look what I've found! A knife ear, all alone in the streets at night!_

The voice hit her like a shield bash to the chest. Humans. _Men._ And as she quickly grabbed for her dagger, she let out a terrified howl. It was still lying at her nightstand, perfectly sharpened and polished. When the shuffling of feet came closer from behind her, she felt the taste of bile rise up in her mouth. No. _No!_ This could not be happening. Maybe they'd just tease her a bit, mock her and punch her some, and then go to the tavern for another drink. But she knew better than clinging to illusions.

_-You know, ma' missus 'ave been a lil'… angry at me lately. An' I ain't gotten no love, if you know wha' I mean. An' you know I've heard that you pointy ears are real' good at solving such problems, lil' thing._

_-I am not your common whore, drunkard. I am a Gray Warden, and can easily have you gutted like a pig if you as much as think about touching me. I suggest you gather your friends here, and move on._

She tried to sound calm and stern, hoping to intimidate him to find his "love" elsewhere. As his facial expression changed from disgustingly flirtatious to slightly confused, she almost thought she'd succeeded. Then laughter filled the air, the stench of ale reintroducing the taste of bile at the back of her mouth.

_-Haha! 'Ey lads, listen to this one. Says she's a Grey Warden, she does. But I ain't seein' no griffons and armor, now have I? An' we all know them Wardens went an' got themselves killed in Ostagar, now don't we?_

While laughter rang in the air around her, she tried to take in how many they were. Eight, nine, maybe ten. Some appeared so drunk it was amazing their feet still held them off the ground, while other still seemed to stare at her with a certain amount of focus. Without the alcohol in her system, she could've been able to take them out without weapons. The way the world seemed to spin at the edge of her eyes sadly reminded her that this was not the case this time. Reflexes were dulled; coordination was not to be seen. And she was ever so aware of it. She'd have to trust whatever moves her body had internalized, and held her breath as she positioned her body in a defensive stance. With a belch and series of laughter, the man in front of her seemed to have reached his limit of patience, and lounged forward. The hand grasping for her was quickly countered with a punch to the face, and like a freshly chopped tree he swayed for a second before his face connected with the ground. After that, they all came towards her at the same time.

.oO0Oo.

Zevran jumped from rooftop to rooftop with the precision that only years of training can result in. Coming to a halt, he realized that the buildings ahead appeared more challenging than he pleased for at the moment, and leapt for the ground. Not a sound was emitted, and with the precision and grace of a cat he found himself in a back alley. It was a quiet night, it seemed. Few people were out in the streets, and his companions had been so worn out they'd called it the night rather early on. Especially their female Warden, which had only scowled at the men around her and headed for her room with enough booze to knock Oghren out cold. She was… something else, he had to admit. But after what he'd overhead between her and Wynne last month had changed a lot of how he looked at her. The pain in her eyes were even more obvious now, every small caress of her ring drew his eyes to her hands.

With a silent sigh he drew the night air into his lungs and stared up at the sky. Even the stars were out tonight, shining bright above him. Looking away from the odd selection of smells that Ferelden always seemed to be covered in, it had its beautiful moments. A small breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and he felt his shoulders sink a little. After Orzammar, he couldn't seem to appreciate the sky and trees on the surface enough. Antivan assasins didn't cope well in underground stone cities, he'd discovered. The smells, the dull colors, the food – in all honesty he hoped they'd never be forced to go back. The Deep Roads was enough to give even the toughest of men nightmares, that was for sure. Slowly exhaling, he noticed how the night was about to reach the beginning of a new day, and decided it was time to find his room at the tavern again.

.oO0Oo.

Their hands were everywhere. Grabbing, tugging, trying to get a hold of her. She'd stopped screaming a long while ago, and was on the brink of giving up. Her vision was blurred – she taken a serious hit to the back of her head, and stars still danced between her and those she looked at. Maybe this was something she deserved? She'd let them take Shianni, and now she had to face her punishment. As her energy slowly was drained from her body, it felt more and more obvious. _This was her punishment, she deserved this_. And with a final resignation, she felt her body fall to the ground. Laughter filled her ears as her consciousness danced between the waking world and a sea of black. The rustle of belts and the grasping sent chills down her spine, but she couldn't move anymore. Her legs were like the heaviest of steel, and it was as if someone had pinned her to the ground by magic. As she prepared for the inevitable pain, a loud scream pierced through the darkness around her.

Suddenly the greasy hands on her thighs were removed, and shouting appeared to fill the night. Without warning, everything was colored with the crimson hue of blood. Searching for a focal point, she set her eyes on two daggers glinting in the night. _She knew those daggers_, it suddenly hit her. But the way they moved, was not the familiar dance of death, a show she'd seen ever so often. This was something primal, something _raw_. Where she'd expect the daggers to smoothly cut through skin in order to kill effectively, these daggers wildly dug through flesh until they hit bone, until what they pierced no longer appeared human. Where she'd expect a cocky comment, was now only a silent snarl; teeth bared and eyes burning. And as realization hit her, she felt the ache of her head drag her towards unconsciousness, only a silent whisper escaping her lips.

_-Zevran.._


	6. A healing process begun

**6: A healing process begun**

Three loud knocks on the door, and Wynne was dragged out of her dreams. _Maker's grace, what could possibly be so important at this hour?_ Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she quickly slipped into her robes and crossed the room. While the right hand tugged at the doorknob to identify the knocker, her left hand was already raised, ready for scolding. What met her eyes was not mischief, nor an Alistair that just couldn't sleep, no matter how many bunnies he'd try to count. What met her was a silent Zevran, and an unconscious silhouette covered in wounds and bruises. She could do nothing but gasp.

_-Maker! And oh, my _dear_ child! Zevran, what has happened, where have you been? And get into the room, for goodness sake! Now!_

Letting her healer habits take control of her movements, she quickly guided him to her bed, and assisted in slowly putting the beat body down at to the mattress. Had she not been so familiar with the armor in front of her, she was not even sure if she would've recognized the bleeding body as their Warden: where blood did not cover the skin, bruises took its place; the face was swollen and cut after several direct hits, and the breathing was heavy and ragged. But she _was _breathing.

_-Zevran. The bruises at her thighs – did they… _

The Antivan finally seemed to find his voice, and turned towards her. They way he stood, they way his eyes seemed to glow with anger. She'd never seem him like this.

_-They tried. And was very persistent at that matter. But no, I got to them before they could damage her in that way. If they did, I would not have gone so easy on them._

Taking in the state Zevran was in, she doubted that "easy" even had been at option back there. Judging by the look in his eyes, she also didn't doubt that he was capable to do far worse things than killing them. Wondering about the limits of the assassin would have to be reserved for another day however, and with a focused frown she turned to the bleeding warrior on the bed.

.oO0Oo.

_-I heard her story, Wynne. Last month. After the nightmare._

Wynne had almost forgotten about the assassin, who'd settled down on a chair next to the bed. During the previous hours of healing, he had kept silent. He'd just looked, his eyes intently focused on the face of their Warden.

_-It was not of my intention to eavesdrop; I respect her far too much to do such a thing. But I too was alerted by her panic that night, and was on my way to see what was troubling her. You, which I may say are remarkably fast for your age, got there before I. And when I was about to turn, I froze at the sound of her voice breaking. I don't know why I did not leave, and for intruding on that moment I am sorry. _

This too added up in why Zevran was one step from having body parts hanging from his armor, Wynne thought, eyes still on the body in front of her. But she said nothing, her energy solely focused on the light streaming between her hands and Kallian's wounds. Her body was nearly as stitched up as magic could get it, and Wynne's mana reserves were growing thin. Sighing, she withdrew her hands and wiped her forehead.

_-There is still much to heal, and much to talk about. But this is as far as my powers extend tonight. Now, we will have to wait until she wakes. The rest is up to her now. Even though I am not completely comfortable with suggesting this, do you think you would able to watch over her until I've had some rest? I will send someone with hot water here, so you can clean up. I will not allow you to linger around a patient with all this filth on you. _

With that, she collected a few personal items and retreated to Kallians room to rest there. In the air was an unspoken command _– we will speak of this tomorrow. You will explain why I spent my night dragging a wounded elf away from the arms of death._ But they both knew this was not the time. As the door closed behind him, a whispered _braska_ broke the silence of the room. He could understand her now. That helpless feeling of being too late.


	7. Berserk

_Ever so sorry about jumping in time here, but I really need more time to figure out how to write the part between this chapter and "A healing process begun". I do hope that it works with a little flashback later on - promise it'll be worth it. I hope. And any comment or review is greatly appreciated, as this is really the first fanfic I've ever really tried to work with properly. _

_Anyways, thanks a lot for reading!_

_xoxo_

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><p><strong>7: Berserk<strong>

Alistair looked at her through the shifting light of the campfire. She had changed since they came to Denerim. It wasn't something solid, something he could put his finger on. But if Kallian ever had appeared like a caged animal before, she was now something intensely primal and agitated, with fangs and claws ready at all times. He sighed and looked to his right, only to find a snoring Oghren. Unlike other days however, he had earned his comatose condition this time.

When Oghren had lifted his axe after conversing with Kallian earlier that day, Alistair first thought the dwarf had agreed to some farfetched bet again – something that wasn't all that uncommon, especially when he'd been chasing the bottom of a beer keg. This seemed different though. They looked serious and focused – a trait far more commonly found in their red haired leader, than the alcohol soaked dwarf. And then a moment of silence from the surroundings allowed her voice to reach Alistair's ears.

_-Oghren, I want you to teach me. Now. I need thus._

_-Don't get your little panties in a twist, you impatient nug licker. I'm coming, I'm coming._

And with a belch, a hiccup and a moment of swaying, the dwarf followed their leader out of camp – fully armed and with a stern look painted across his face. Alistair froze for a second when he figured out what they were up to. _Berserker training. _She couldn't be serious, could she? Berserking, _really?_ That was for anger management people, those like Oghren, who could build up rage by staring at field of flowers, by glancing at a basket of fluffy bunnies. Frowning slightly, he slowly got to his feet, and decided to witness this. And then, he'd offer her to teach her a few handy templar moves.

.oO0Oo.

_-__What the sod is there to know? You get mad, you fly into battle, and things die. It's pretty simple. The hard part is getting in touch with your rage. We all learn to hold that back. It's why we don't kill every duster who looks at us sideways. You need to shut that off. For some people, being in battle is enough. But others have to think about something. Violence, monsters, nobles, your wife, whatever.__ Now, pick up your sword, I want to see some sodding anger here._

The first clash of weapon almost made Alistair giggle a bit, but he held his tongue, preventing them to find out about their audience. It never ceased to amaze him, how the tiny elf could throw herself into battle again and again, where men twice her size would whimper and back out. Maybe that was why she remained in the leading position of the party, even though he was supposed to be superior in the affairs of Gray Warden business.

_-Oh come on, you whimpering little pointy ear! Are you trying to convince me that you've never felt the rush of rage throb in your veins, that you've never tasted the burning taste of bloodlust? Have you never looked into the eyes of some nug humper, and just wanted to cut him down, to see him bleed out? Come on!_

It wasn't the taunting voice of Oghren that made Alistair turn his eyes to them again. It was the roar of anger and the clash of weapons that followed. Something had flicked a switch in Kallian. Her posture had changed, they way she swung her weapons – even the sneer across her face. Whatever chain of thoughts Alistair had been lost in, was gone. The creature in front of him was… not one he had met before. At first, he heard Oghren chuckle, apparently pleased with the reaction he had provoked out of the elf. But as time passed, he seemed to have more than enough with blocking the incoming blows. Kallian didn't seem to be fighting Oghren anymore: she was just attacking, baring her teeth, sneering. She didn't even seem to notice that both Zevran and Leliana too had been drawn to the field they were training at, no doubt attracted by the sounds of battle. And while Leliana seemed as amazed by their leader as ever, Zevran's face gave no sign of admiration. Nor was it disapproval. It was just empty. Focused, his eyes locked on the elf, but other than that – nothing.

"_Maker's beard, what is it with that guy?" _Alistair thought to himself. _Did he ever stop being such an… assassin? _On one point he did think he could understand a part of that expression though, taking in the scene of battle. Because it was a fearsome beast that fought in front of them. And Maker keep it that way, he was glad he was fighting on her side.

_-Hah! I think we're finished here, you lil' rager. You're making me sweat out all out that good ale, hah._

But the clashing didn't end. The rage in Kallian's eyes didn't come to an halt.

_-Hey, elf. Enough now. Heh. Elf! Pointy ear! Curse the ass of every paragon, are you listening to me here?_

Only after having Oghren shout out her name, Kallian seemed to join them on their planet. Lungs sucking in air like she'd run a mile straight, legs shaking like she'd run ten. But she was there with them, eyes fluttering as she noticed the bard and the assassin on the edge of the field. And where Alistair expected her to triumph over her newly gained skills, the opposite occurred. No gloating, no cheering. Just the lowering of weapons, and then she headed back to camp. That, and a quick look at Zevran, still standing there with an unreadable expression.

Alistair didn't get it. He didn't get her new choice of specialization, he didn't get the glance she'd shot the assassin. Quite frankly, he wasn't even sure he got anything of his fellow Grey Warden right now.


End file.
